Small colour botanical tattoo of a pink rose, red berries and green leaves on the inner upper arm, with a matching paper flash design shown below.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pink rose bouquet on an upper arm

Botanical · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A small bouquet of a pink rose, a smaller red-orange flower, red berry sprigs and green leaves sits on the inner upper arm. The shapes are soft and painterly, with loose shading and watercolour-like fills rather than hard outlines. The lower panel shows the same bouquet drawn on a white card against a plain grey background.

Botanical Upper arm Rose Flower Bouquet Berry Leaves

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The mule stops again at the third hairpin, and you have to lift the wrapped bundle from the saddle before it shakes loose. Wet brown paper, damp string, and the sharp smell of rowan crushed under your thumb. Ruth at the inn said the pass would take four hours in this wind. She was right about the wind, but she never mentioned what it would do to the roses.

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Halfway up, the path narrows to a shelf of scree where the cairns lean like tired men. A shepherd's boy comes down with two collies at his heels and calls out the price of a tin of tea, then sees what you are carrying and goes quiet. You tell him the flowers are for the wedding in Corrie Ash, where your sister is waiting in a borrowed dress that is two inches too long. He nods as though that explains everything, and his dogs go past you without a single bark.

At the top there is a stone cross hung with faded ribbons, and the wind drops for the first time all day. You tug the paper open. The pink rose has held its colour better than you have. The small red-orange bloom is bruised at one edge, and the berries are still as bright as sealing wax. You remember the painted card Mirela gave you last spring, how she insisted the flowers should look as though they were picked a minute before someone noticed them.

Down in the valley the bells have started for the first guests. You tie the stems again, tighter this time, and begin the descent with the sun on your back. Behind you the ribbons keep snapping at the cross. The mule, who has no interest in weddings, walks on ahead as though he already knows the way.